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Oh, Paddy dear, and did you hear, the news that’s goin' round,The Shamrock is forbid by law, to grow on Irish ground;St. Patrick’s day no more we’ll keep, His color can’t be seen,For there’s a bloody law agin, the wearin' of the green,I met with Napper Tandy, and he tuk me by the hand,And he said how’s poor ould Ireland, and how does she sound,She’s the most distressful country, that ever you have seen;They’re hanging men and women there, for wearin' of the green.

Then since the color we must wear, is England’s cruel red,Sure Ireland’s sons will ne’er forget, the blood that they have shed;You may take the Shamrock from your hat, and cast it on the sod,But 'twill take root and flourish still tho' under foot 'tis trod,When the law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,When the leaves in summer time, their verdure dare not show,Then I will change the color I wear in my corbeen;But till that day, plase God, I’ll stick to wearin' of the green.

But if at last our color should, be torn from Ireland’s heart,Her Sons with shame and sorrow from the dear ould soil will part;I've heard whisper of a country, that lies far beyant the say,Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom’s day.Oh, Erin, must we lave you, driven by the tyrant’s hand,Must we ask a mother’s welcome from a strange but happier land,Where the cruel cross of England’s thraldom never shall be seen;And where, thank God, we'll live and die, still wearin' of the green.

sung in [Dion Boucicault's] drama of Arrah Na Pogue at Niblo's by T.H. Glenney--illustrated title page.

Other named persons

Boucicault, Dion, 1820-1890

Publisher

New York : H.B. Dodworth

Date

1865

Physical Description

1 score (5 p.) 34 cm.

Instrumentation

voice and piano

Note

Title from cover.

Cover Art Description

green; black lettering; white border.

Subject - Library of Congress

Popular music -- United States -- To 1901 -- Scores -- Musicals -- Excerpts -- Vocal scores with piano

Spencer Subject

Ethnic - Irish

Digital Collection

Frances G. Spencer Collection of American Popular Sheet Music

Lyrics

Oh, Paddy dear, and did you hear, the news that’s goin' round,The Shamrock is forbid by law, to grow on Irish ground;St. Patrick’s day no more we’ll keep, His color can’t be seen,For there’s a bloody law agin, the wearin' of the green,I met with Napper Tandy, and he tuk me by the hand,And he said how’s poor ould Ireland, and how does she sound,She’s the most distressful country, that ever you have seen;They’re hanging men and women there, for wearin' of the green.

Then since the color we must wear, is England’s cruel red,Sure Ireland’s sons will ne’er forget, the blood that they have shed;You may take the Shamrock from your hat, and cast it on the sod,But 'twill take root and flourish still tho' under foot 'tis trod,When the law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,When the leaves in summer time, their verdure dare not show,Then I will change the color I wear in my corbeen;But till that day, plase God, I’ll stick to wearin' of the green.

But if at last our color should, be torn from Ireland’s heart,Her Sons with shame and sorrow from the dear ould soil will part;I've heard whisper of a country, that lies far beyant the say,Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom’s day.Oh, Erin, must we lave you, driven by the tyrant’s hand,Must we ask a mother’s welcome from a strange but happier land,Where the cruel cross of England’s thraldom never shall be seen;And where, thank God, we'll live and die, still wearin' of the green.

Oh, Paddy dear, and did you hear, the news that’s goin' round,The Shamrock is forbid by law, to grow on Irish ground;St. Patrick’s day no more we’ll keep, His color can’t be seen,For there’s a bloody law agin, the wearin' of the green,I met with Napper Tandy, and he tuk me by the hand,And he said how’s poor ould Ireland, and how does she sound,She’s the most distressful country, that ever you have seen;They’re hanging men and women there, for wearin' of the green.

Then since the color we must wear, is England’s cruel red,Sure Ireland’s sons will ne’er forget, the blood that they have shed;You may take the Shamrock from your hat, and cast it on the sod,But 'twill take root and flourish still tho' under foot 'tis trod,When the law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,When the leaves in summer time, their verdure dare not show,Then I will change the color I wear in my corbeen;But till that day, plase God, I’ll stick to wearin' of the green.

But if at last our color should, be torn from Ireland’s heart,Her Sons with shame and sorrow from the dear ould soil will part;I've heard whisper of a country, that lies far beyant the say,Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom’s day.Oh, Erin, must we lave you, driven by the tyrant’s hand,Must we ask a mother’s welcome from a strange but happier land,Where the cruel cross of England’s thraldom never shall be seen;And where, thank God, we'll live and die, still wearin' of the green.